


The Scent of a Lady (Detective)

by soupsouffle



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Lingerie, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupsouffle/pseuds/soupsouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne watched his lovely face, from his pale lashes to the slightly upturned slope of his nose, the hollows of his smooth cheeks, the determined line of his jaw. It would not be easy for her either, to go without seeing that face for ten long days.</p><p>But she was Phryne Fisher—surely she could find a way to keep both of them entertained in her absence. It was only a question of how. She would need to leave something behind, something of herself, something wicked and forbidden for him to find, something to torture him and keep her first in his thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of a Lady (Detective)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is without a doubt the porniest thing I've ever written. I mean pure filth. You've been warned!! You all have the lovely tisziny and kalerider to thank, who gave me this prompt in the first place. It has been a wild ride, pun intended.
> 
> Thanks so much to kalerider, tisziny, and Sassasam for betaing this for me and talking me down off of multiple cliffs. 
> 
> And extra thanks to kalerider, who was by my side on Skype with this story from cradle to grave. A friendship was born from this crazy ass fic, as well as a whole jumble of complete psychotic nonsense. You guys should thank her for stopping me from using croquembouche in a kissing description. Friends don't let friends croquembouche. 
> 
> Here goes nothin'!

The idea had occurred to Phryne as his cheek lay on her thigh. His mouth had very recently brought her to a body-shattering climax and both he and she were now smiling at each other and panting with flagrant satisfaction.

Jack closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, pressing at her other thigh to widen the spread of her legs. "I have to go two full weeks without breathing in that intoxicating aroma? I don't think I can bear it, Miss Fisher."

A gratified smirk spread over Phryne's face. "It is only ten days, Inspector. You knew me for much longer than that without enjoying that 'intoxicating aroma,' and you managed perfectly well."

"A man cannot miss what he does not know," reasoned Jack, smoothing his palm over her hip bone and nuzzling the crease of her thigh with his nose. "But I know it now. And I don't think I can do without."

"I'm afraid you'll have to find a way to carry on," she sighed, running her fingers through his hair, which was soft and loose and free of pomade. "I promised Mac I would help her with this seminar in Canberra. But I'll be back before you know it."

He gave a deep frown. "Yes, what was it all about again? Women's problems?"

Phryne rolled her eyes at his willful ignorance and gave a little chuckle. Jack hungrily drank in the sight of her breasts trembling with her laughter. "Reproductive health, Jack. Something you should appreciate, as you reap the benefits of my diaphragm on a daily basis."

His lip curled up and he nipped the sensitive flesh inside her thigh. "Well. If it's for such a worthy cause, I suppose I'll have to give you up."

Phryne watched his lovely face, from his pale lashes to the slightly upturned slope of his nose, the hollows of his smooth cheeks, the determined line of his jaw. It would not be easy for her either, to go without seeing that face for ten long days.

But she was Phryne Fisher—surely she could find a way to keep both of them entertained in her absence. It was only a question of how. She would need to leave something behind, something of herself, something wicked and forbidden for him to find, something to torture him and keep her first in his thoughts.

Then the idea came to her, so obvious it seemed silly to have taken her so long. She thought of his cheek on her thigh, shamelessly inhaling the lingering aroma of sex, and her face split into a sinful smile. She most definitely had something to leave behind for him. And she was certain Jack would find it very much to his liking.

* * *

The morning of Phryne's departure found them at Jack's bungalow, both sleepy and sore and languid, having spent the night making love as if they might not see one another again. Phryne quietly helped Jack dress, buttoning his shirt, tucking in the tails, fastening his braces, knotting his tie. He allowed this without murmur, watching her face and drinking in the tenderness he found there. Phryne Fisher very rarely put her deeper feelings into words, but it was moments like this, moments where she wordlessly did something so simple as put his clothes on for him, where he could see clearly that he meant something to her.

Once he was fully assembled, she smoothed her hands down his lapels, admiring her handiwork. "Oh! Don't forget," she murmured, reaching back to open his top drawer and pull out a neatly folded handkerchief. She slid it slowly into his pocket, her fingers rolling around until they brushed affectionately against his shaft, which gave a threatening twitch of awareness at her touch.

"Phryne," he warned. "If you have any intention of leaving on time you had better take your hand out of there."

"What. This hand?" She smiled up at him and pulled her hand out of his pocket, sliding it upwards to rest safely against his side. But her face nuzzled closer, the silky strands of her hair whispering against his jaw, the tip of her elegant nose making a little circle against his neck before she took a breath against his skin. "You smell  _good_ , Jack."

He held perfectly still as he felt her lips press against him, then part. The smoothness of her tongue feathered over one of the tendons near his collarbone, and for a moment Jack forgot how to breathe. "You taste good, too," she noted.

Jack cleared his throat, forcing his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her and making them both very late indeed. "Just keep that in mind, in case you come across any dashing gentleman in Canberra."

"Don't be silly," she teased, smiling against his Adam's apple. "No one has ever made love to me the way you do, Jack Robinson, and I'm convinced no one ever will. You won't be getting rid of me so easily."

Though he'd had every intention of keeping his hands to himself, Jack found himself tipping her chin up to kiss her in appreciation for the reassuring words. This was always a bit of a sticking point between them. Jack had never asked her for a commitment and she had never given one, but she did at least do him the courtesy of voicing the fact that she needed him with some frequency, and made it known that she had no plans to abandon him. Still, it was always the niggling little fear at the back of his mind. How long would he be able to keep her all to himself?

"Is that all you need me for?" he murmured against her mouth. "Sex?"

Phryne gave a little shrug and bobbed her head to one side. "Well. You also come in rather handy when I need a spot of police intelligence."

Jack's lips curled up into a hint of a smile and his hand darted out to pinch her side playfully, making her squeal and try to twist away. But he grabbed her by the forearms—which were curled defensively against her chest to block further attacks—and hauled her close, capturing her mouth in a kiss that took them both a little by surprise with its intensity. He kissed her until she was shaking in his arms, her hands clutching at his clothes though her movement was restricted by his grip, which still held her arms trapped between them.

The world began to fall away, the way it always did when he was kissing Phryne Fisher. He sank his tongue deeper into her velvet warmth, greedily seeking more of her sweetness. She shivered and moaned and twisted her arms out of his grip, but only so she could slide them up and around his neck, pulling herself higher and harder against his body.

Jack forgot he had anywhere to be. His mind honed in on the woman in his arms, allowing lesser matters to fall away. She was  _everything_. He yanked up the hem of her dress, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of her thigh, fastening his mouth to the curve of her neck when she threw her head back in delight.

The blast of car horn sounded somewhere near the window but Jack barely heard it. He was too fascinated by the beating heart that pounded against his tongue, a frenzied throbbing just beneath her luminous skin, declaring the teeming vitality of this miraculous woman, who for some reason had given him the right to touch her. In any and every way that had ever been dreamed up by two people.

"That'll be Mac," came Phryne's weak voice at his ear, causing him to groan in frustration. His hands refused to stop their determined exploration, and he nudged his erection hopefully against her belly, already knowing it would all come to naught.

"Can't she wait?" It was worth a try.

"If we keep her waiting, she'll be barging in here in a moment. And unless you want Mac to find you in a state…"

Regretfully, Jack allowed his hands to drop to his sides, and he took a step away from the heat and the welcome of her, though his body screamed at the loss.

He carried her bags out to the car, using them to block the view of his noticeably firm trouser situation, and loaded them into the boot before handing Phryne into the passenger's seat. He pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles before releasing her. "Drive safely, Doctor MacMillan. And keep this one out of trouble, will you?"

"You ask the impossible, Jack Robinson," laughed Mac. "But I'll do my best."

* * *

 

Jack walked into the station later that morning to find Collins at the reception desk already, chattering merrily away on the telephone. "Oh, yes indeed, Mrs. Sturgis. That's wonderful news. And I'm so glad your kitten has learned to stay away from trees. Having a Constable sent up a ladder after him is not something he's eager to relive, I'd wager!"

Jack rolled his eyes and unlocked his office, taking comfort in the familiarity of routine to take his mind off the empty bed he would come home to that evening. He slid the top folder from his stack of open case files and began to go over his notes from yesterday's home invasion. When he heard Constable Collins hang up the telephone, he got up and wandered back to the front to see if anything needed his immediate attention.

Collins looked up at his arrival, bright and eager as always. "Morning, Inspector. Can I get you some tea, sir?"

Jack was distracted from answering as he noticed the blotch of dark blue ink that was smeared across the younger man's face.

"You've ink on your nose, Constable," said Jack.

"Oh yes, sir, sorry, sir, I forgot. My pen burst on me," Collins replied, immediately patting himself down for a handkerchief and coming up with nothing. Jack reached into his own pocket, trying not to think of the hand that had been inside it mere hours ago.

"Collins, here, take mine. I've a spare in my drawer."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!" Taking the square of black cotton from Jack, Hugh dipped it into a cup of water on the desk and began to dab liberally at his nose. "Did I get it all?"

"Good as new, Constable," replied Jack.

Hugh gave the spot a few more swipes then gave the hanky a strange look. "This has an interesting scent, sir," commented Collins, raising his eyebrows and twitching his nose as he handed the handkerchief back to Jack, his expression still odd. "What does your laundress use on them?"

"What do you mean?" replied Jack, who had never known his handkerchiefs to smell any particular way at all. He lifted the fabric to his face and sniffed.

It took no time at all for the scent to travel to his brain, and Jack felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. His face felt like it was on fire—in fact, he was quite certain he was glowing bright red. For he had recognized the aroma immediately.

It smelled like...it smelled like... _Phryne_.

Suddenly his throat felt very dry indeed. "Erm, yes, that is unusual isn't it. I'll have to ask her. Er, the laundress, I mean." And he disappeared quickly back into his office, closing the door behind him a bit louder than he meant to.

Once safely obscured from view, Jack made his way ponderously to his desk. He sank into his chair, the hand holding the handkerchief hanging loosely at his side. He leaned over his desk, propping his elbows upon the hard surface. At last he brought the handkerchief to his face and inhaled deeply.

Musk and tart arousal and that little flutter of French perfume, which she always dabbed at her thighs. It was unmistakably Phryne.

It was like someone had shot an arrow of desire directly into the pleasure center of his brain. Scent was such a powerful path to memory...a single whiff and it was as if every erotic experience he had ever shared with Phryne Fisher was cascading over the surface of his mind.

It was unbearable, intoxicating...he saw her beneath him, thrashing and bucking as he drove into her. He heard her cries of ecstasy as he slid his tongue over her moist, swollen folds. He could feel the smooth pallor of her skin beneath his fingertips, warm and velvety and shivering against his touch. And more than anything he could  _taste_  her—even if only with his memories and the suggestive aroma—he could  _taste_  the sweet, silky flavor of her sex on his tongue, a flavor that scorched his mouth and warmed his belly and hardened his cock.

No.  _No_. Not while he was on duty.

He firmly set his mind to determining why his handkerchief—which just this morning he had watched her select from the folded stack of clean ones in his drawer—smelled of eau de Phryne. Had he used it to...but no, he was always meticulous about putting such things directly into the laundry bin.

He opened the drawer to his right and removed the spare hanky he kept inside. He had placed it there weeks ago and had not touched it since, but if he knew Phryne and her attention to detail...he lifted it to his face—he swore, if this one smelled of her as well—

But the same lustful fragrance was sucked in with his breath and his hand felt suddenly weak. The handkerchief fell from his fingers, floating back down to the desk, and he let out a shuddery sigh.

 _That vixen_.  _That evil, delightful, shameless little minx_.

It was too much to contemplate. Too much too think of how she had gone about marking his handkerchiefs with her intimate aroma, not even sparing the half-forgotten one in his drawer. He knew beyond a doubt that when he returned home to inspect his collection of hankies, every last one of them one would smell of Phryne.

He looked forlornly at the calendar on his desk. She wouldn't be back for ten very long days. He would be lucky if she hadn't found a way to murder him from afar by them. She had already brought him to his knees and it was only day one.

Jack went through the rest of his day in a fog. Though he had stowed both handkerchiefs far to the back of his bottom drawer, they were still there,  _tempting_  him. It almost felt as if Phryne herself had been perched atop his desk all day, watching him work. With her legs parted. And her blouse unbuttoned. And—oh God—

Once the last bit of paperwork had been filed and everything was set in order for the following day, Jack rushed home with only a single thought in mind.

He parked his motorcar sloppily on the curb and thundered down the path to his little Victorian bungalow, the key to which he had awarded Phryne not two weeks ago. He had never dreamed she would use it for  _this._

He swung the door closed carelessly behind him, shucking his overcoat and jacket as one before tossing them in the general direction of the coat hanger before rushing upstairs. Once in his bedroom he jolted the top drawer of his bureau open, seizing the stack of plain cotton handkerchiefs, each the same nondescript shade of black, and flung them onto the bed.

Sinking laboriously into the mattress, Jack took each square of fabric, one by one, and confirmed for himself that, just as he had hypothesized, Phryne Fisher had let herself into his home and proceeded to coat every handkerchief he owned with her...her…

 _Christ_.

Suddenly, Jack found himself undressing. He practically tore his braces from his shoulders, dislodged a button in his haste to remove his waistcoat, and didn't even bother to unbutton his shirt all the way, yanking open his cufflinks and tugging off his tie before hauling the rest of it over his head. He kicked off his shoes and shoved his trousers and drawers as one to the ground. Finally naked, he stretched his body across the bed, which was still strewn with scented handkerchiefs.

It was wrong, it was filthy and wrong, but Jack found he didn't care. He seized one of the hankies and brought it to his face, lodging the memory of that scent in his mind before wrapping the square of cotton securely around his cock, which was already stiff and hot and aching to be touched. It felt perverted, deliciously deviant, but he missed her desperately and there was no one here to see. The texture of the fabric, paired with the knowledge that it had at some point been pressed between Phryne's legs, soaking up her arousal, was doing awful things to him. He wondered if she'd used them to pleasure herself. Groaning at the thought, he took a second handkerchief and held it to his face, needing to feel close to her, to imagine she was there with him, that it was her hand rather than his own that was gripping him so tightly. Then, slowly, face hot with half-shame, half-ecstasy, he began to stroke himself.

He was settling into a good rhythm, that familiar heat and delicious pressure beginning to rise in his belly. Her name was on his lips, it was the only word he could think of, and he quickened his pace. He knew that this would not be a drawn out affair...his release was already close at hand. How could she  _do_  this to him?

And then the telephone rang.

 _Damn it_.

Jack tried to ignore the shrill tones and wait for the caller to give up. Eventually the ringing stopped and he wrapped his hand back around himself to carry on with his task.

He had not even completed his stroke when it rang again. With a groan, Jack reached for the telephone on the bedside table and snatched it to his ear. "What?" he barked into the mouthpiece.

The was a purr of laughter on the other line. "Hello, Jack. You sound a bit tense. Difficult day on the job?"

Jack's head fell back against the pillow. If it was possible, even more blood rushed to his groin at the sound of her voice. He breathed softly into the receiver for a few moments, contemplating his position—naked and sprawled across the bed, his erection draped in a handkerchief, straining against his belly, while he held the source of his predicament to his ear.

Well. If she was going to torture him, he would torture her right back. Something about talking to her like this, having been driven to seeking pleasure from his own hand by her mischief—it lit a fire in him. He wanted to match her, to teach her that if he was going down, he would take her with him. "I made a little discovery today, Miss Fisher."

She made a sweet little noise against his ear. "Did you? What sort of discovery?"

He smirked to himself at her feigned innocence. "Ask me what I'm doing right now."

"Very well. What are you doing now, Jack?"

His voice came out low and dark. "I'm lying naked on my bed with a handkerchief wrapped round my cock."

There was a moment of silence on the other line. Jack knew she hadn't expected him to speak so boldly. "Mmmm. Why did you wrap a hanky around your cock, darling? That seems a little silly."

"Well you see," he replied, swallowing a groan as he took himself in hand once more once more, moving slowly, torturously, the smooth fabric gliding easily over his fevered skin. "For some reason, all of my clean hankies now smell like your naughty bits."

She let out a little gasp of mock surprise that he felt all the way to his toes. "No! How on  _earth_  did that happen?"

"Yes, I'm curious, Phryne. How did it happen?" He punctuated his sentence with a groan as pleasure began to build again.

She gave a little snicker over the line. "Well, you see. You gave me that key to your house."

"Yes," he ground out.

"And I thought, why not pop over for a visit before I depart?"

"Yes..."

"I got on your bed. I could smell you on the pillows. You always smell  _so good_ , Jack. Before long I started feeling, well,  _amorous_ …"

Jack swallowed hard. "What did you do?"

He could hear the smile in her voice as she recounted her tale. "First, I took my dress off. And my cloche and shoes. I wasn't wearing any underthings. But I left the garters and stockings because, well, they're such a bother to put back on again. And I had on the prettiest emerald necklace that hung down nearly to my navel..."

Wicked woman. She knew full well he loved her in nothing but stockings and garters. And he could perfectly picture the jewels bumping against her smooth, sculpted belly. "So you were mostly naked. In my bed. When I wasn't at home."

"Yes. But first I thought, poor Jack, having to go so long without me. I ought to leave a little something behind to make him think of me."

He stroked himself harder as he imagined her, naked and mischievous and alone in his bedroom. He could picture her so perfectly, naked but for her stockings and garters, white skin smooth and perfect in the natural light. Her nipples puffy and pink in the cool air. Her legs bent at the knee, sprawled wide...God in heaven, if only he had walked in on her like that…

"So I took all of your handkerchiefs out of your drawer. I was already wet from rolling around on your pillows and thinking about your hands on me. So one by one, I lay each one of them over my, what did you call them? My naughty bits? Yes, and then I made myself come. Quite a few times, actually. I was having such lovely thoughts about you."

Jack was half-frantic with desire and the pleasure he was giving himself with his hand. "You're trying to drive me mad."

"Yes, I had hoped to. Are you touching yourself right now?" Her voice was liquid and languid, flowing into his ears and licking at him from the inside out.

"What do you think?" he hissed.

"Me too," she whispered. Her simple words scattered him into a million pieces. He let out a choked shout as fire engulfed him from brain to balls and he was done for. He came hard into the handkerchief, pleasure rolling over him in brutal surges until his eyes watered. He lay there for several tense moments, stunned and trembling from the intensity of it.

" _Fuck_ , Phryne," he breathed. It wasn't a word he used often, normally only at footy matches or in moments of intense pain. But he couldn't think of any other word to describe the sensations coursing through him. His mind and heart were full of her, full to bursting.

"Did you come, Jack?" Now her voice was lower, raspier, and his cock give an exhausted little twitch of appreciation.

"What do you think?"

She gave a little sigh into the receiver. "I think you came. All over the same handkerchief I came on."

If she kept talking like that there was a good chance he would be on a train to Canberra tonight. "Come home at once. I want you in my bed  _now_."

"Sweet Jack, you know I would come to you if I could. Only a few more days—"

"Ten!"he groaned, as if the fact caused him true pain.

"It'll go by quickly."

"I'll run out of handkerchiefs long before then."

She gave a little chirp of laughter. "You're going to have to ration yourself, then, I'm afraid."

"Easier said than done!"

"Don't fuss, at least you have those handkerchiefs. Poor little me, stuck in this hotel room with nothing but my imagination and two good hands."

"I just need you to know," Jack grunted, feeling his loins stirring again already. "That you are in a lot of trouble when you get back."

"Oooh,  _yes_ , Jack. I can't wait to see how you'll punish me."

"Vixen. I'm hanging up now, before that dangerous mouth of yours does me real damage. Best of luck with your two good hands."

"I wish you the same, my darling, sweet Jack. Pleasant dreams."

When he hung up the line, he felt a little empty, his arms aching with the need to gather her close to his body, to feel the warmth of her against him, but of course she wasn't there. He decided the next best thing was a cool shower.

* * *

As anticipated, Jack had run through his supply of handkerchiefs rather quickly. Phryne had been telephoning nightly and their sessions had only grown more heated. He was  _bothered_  with wanting, driven to distraction by his desperation to have her back in his arms.

Once each of the handkerchiefs had been used, he began to formulate new ideas. This naturally led to the notion of laying hands on a pair of her knickers. Yes, he thought he could manage that without too much trouble...certainly he could come up with a good excuse to steal up to her bedroom...

In the end, it took nothing more creative than, "I believe I left an item upstairs, Mr. Butler, if I could just go up and retrieve it?"

Clearly having no desire to learn any further details, Mr. Butler gestured to the stairs with an indulgent grin and returned to the kitchen.

Jack looked furtively to the left and right, as if someone might still jump out and stop him. But no one did. And then his legs were ascending the stairs and he was doing his best not to really think about what he was doing. Trying not to dwell on the fact that he was at his—what was Phryne, his sweetheart? His lover? More than both of those things, surely—but whatever she was, he was slipping into her bedroom when she was not at home, not to leave her flowers or a love note but to  _pilfer her delicates_. Had someone suggested that he, Jack Robinson, would have ever stolen into a woman's bedroom and helped himself to her lingerie he would have had them locked up for mad ravings. But such was the sway held over him by Phryne Fisher. It terrified him, and yet made him feel so deliciously  _alive_. He could not have walked away from her, even if he'd wanted to.

He slid safely into Phryne's bedroom, easing the door closed behind him. If she could sneak into his house when he wasn't there then certainly she would not be upset that he had entered her bedroom without permission. At least he had gained lawful entry.

Jack entered her closet, which was large enough to be a bedroom in its own right, and tried to swallow his shame. He realized he had never actually been inside the closet before, holding a bit of a grudge against it for containing all the clothes that dared hide her naked loveliness from him. It was full of the offending articles, a sheer forest of fabric in every color, material, and pattern. And then there were countless shoes, packed tightly and neatly into a floor-to-ceiling shelf that took up most of the back wall. He smiled admiringly at a pair of gold and black evening sandals he remembered quite clearly...he had indulged her with an evening at the opera and a little later she had indulged him by stripping down to nothing but those shoes. He was quite certain the memory of them bobbing about his ears would never leave him.

He found an exotically carved mahogany dresser tucked between her frocks and, finding no reason to delay, began pulling open drawers. It was more silk and lace than Jack had ever dreamed of. He found slips and stockings and brassieres. Garters and camisoles and slinky nighties. But not the treasure he sought.

He turned to a second dresser at the back of the closet, this one taller and slimmer. Knowing already what he would find inside, he slipped a single finger into the ring pull and delicately eased the drawer open.

 _Jackpot_.

Within lay what must have been a hundred pairs of knickers, a sea of silk and lace piled to the brim. He slipped a hand into the mass of fabric, closing his eyes as he pretended they were warm from her skin. He had taken many pairs of knickers off of Phryne Fisher over the past few months, but at the moment he was seeking a pair that he had left on her.

The memory of those particular knickers was crystal clear, and he was sure it would always remain so. It had been morning, both of them getting ready for the day, both of them fresh from the bath they had shared. Phryne's dark hair was damp and clinging to her cheeks and neck. She had just shimmied into an exquisite set of blush-colored silk knickers, and was shifting the matching bandeau-style brassiere into place. There was something so artless and charming in her casual, routine movements and Jack had been overcome. All he had been able to think about was taking her, and he had come up behind her wordlessly, pressing her into the dresser she stood before. Their eyes met in the mirror, and a wide, wicked grin had spread across Phryne's face. He had moved quickly from there, using his fingers to find her through the leg opening in her knickers before pushing deep inside without a word.

His ears would never forget the gasp of shock and pleasure she had made as he'd filled her.

It had been a frenzied joining, over almost as quickly as it had begun, and at the end of it they were both panting and giddy and shaking in each other's arms. Such a small moment, in retrospect, but Jack was certain he would never forget the silk of those knickers sliding against his cock as he took her. As if she would always be his to take.

That morning had been a turning point for them. Before that moment, Jack had asked for everything, had constantly confirmed that she was all right, had been careful not to do anything she might not like. It was the way he had learned to be with Rosie— cautious, tentative, asking permission before trying anything at all. Phryne had been trying to teach him that he didn't have to, that sometimes  _taking_  what you wanted was more enjoyable for both parties. But it wasn't until that moment against the dresser, where he'd felt something so strong he didn't even bothered to remove her underwear, that he truly understood.

He had to find those knickers.

Jack realized, looking down, that the mere recollection of that encounter had managed to put his trousers in quite state indeed.  _Damn that woman_. He groaned, agitatedly rubbing his palm over his aching erection in hopes of a little relief as he used the other hand to sift through Phryne's underthings.

He had only just closed his fist around the beloved pink pair when he heard the soft squeal of hinges in the room beyond.

A sweet, soft voice followed. "Inspector? Mr. B said you'd lost something, would you like me to help you look?"

Oh God.  _Dot_. Jack shoved the knickers into his pockets and hastily slipped his overcoat from his shoulders, draping it over his arm and holding it in front of his predicament in a way he hoped did not look suspicious.

Satisfied that he didn't look too guilty, he poked his head out of the closet. "Thank you, Dot, it was just my watch, I found it in here. Got to take off, though, I'm due back at the station."

Jack hoped she couldn't make out the bulge of fabric in his pocket as he slipped past her and out of the bedroom. He was down the stairs and out the door before Mr. Butler could even peek his head out of the kitchen.

Phryne, meanwhile, was feeling the lack of Jack more acutely than she had anticipated. Their telephone conversations had left her in a state indeed. During the day she was all right, occupied with the important work of Mac's seminar, but at night, alone in her hotel room after she had rang off with Jack, it was almost impossible to sleep for thinking of him. Just imagining what he might be doing with her handkerchiefs at that very moment made her twist and shiver with wanting, until her sheets were damp with sweat and she found herself drawing cool baths for herself at all hours of the night. At some point, she knew, her fingers would not be enough to keep her happy.

She felt a little ashamed, to find herself so reliant on his touch that a few days away from him would drive her to such desperation. Phryne Fisher was not normally like this, not about a  _man_.

But Jack Robinson was more than just a man to her. He was her support system, her confidant, a source of amusement, of warmth and companionship. A partner in every sense of the word. Without him near she felt oddly empty. In more ways than one.

But she passed the days successfully enough, helping Mac do something she believed in and telephoning Jack as early in the evening as she dared. She had never dreamed he would find the courage to say such wicked things to her out loud…but every night he filled her ears with filth and she paid him back in kind, and they ended their nightly conversations panting and frustrated as ever.

The frustration was such that, even though she had planned to stay on with Mac through the weekend and take in the sights, Phryne found the sights of Canberra did not matter to her nearly as much as finding herself back where she belonged, which was beneath Jack Robinson. Or on top of him. Whichever seemed right at the time.

For this reason, their next telephone conversation was very brief.

"Mac doesn't need me for the weekend. I'll be on the morning train," said Phryne, as soon as she heard the call connect.

She could hear his breathing hitch. "I'll collect you at the station."

He did not specify which station, however, and upon arriving to the station in Canberra the next morning Phryne felt her eyes grow wide with shock.

For there was Jack on the platform, waiting for her with a one of those sexy little grins on his face. His hands were deep in his pockets, and he seemed rather pleased with the surprise on her face as she walked towards him.

"You rode the train all night to meet me?"

"I couldn't bear another second apart."

"We are a pair, aren't we," she laughed as she handed him her bags. "Can't do without each other for a week before it all falls to pieces."

They found a compartment quickly, both of a single mind. Jack had enough confidence in train compartment locks to believe they could get away with a quick, quiet romp without being discovered. In any case, keeping his hands to himself all the way back to Melbourne just wasn't an option. He tossed her luggage onto a seat and practically slammed the door shut behind him, engaging the latch and yanking the curtains down over the windows. Then he turned and gave her a look he hoped would make her a bit wobbly about the knees.

"You wicked, wicked thing," he ground out, keeping himself firmly on the other side of the compartment. "Poor Collins was the first one to use one of my handkerchiefs. I hope that makes you feel as guilty as it should."

Instead, Phryne gave a coy little grin of delight. "Oh dear...poor, sweet Hugh. I'm sure he was none the wiser."

"He asked me what my laundress's trick was," Jack mumbled, already knowing he would not see her repent.

At that, Phryne threw her head back and cackled with laughter. "Of course he did! Bless him!"

"It isn't funny," Jack scolded, even though he was smiling too. "Come here, so I can teach you a lesson."

The look in her eyes changed at once, and she swayed closer to him. "What lesson is that, Inspector?"

Tired of the teasing, Jack snatched for the front of her coat and slowly pulled her closer. He pushed her cloche off her head and let it drop to the floor. The soft, warm strands of her hair slipped over his fingers as he cupped the back of her head, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

He knew she expected him to be frenzied with need, but instead he found himself in the mood to draw this out. To give her a taste of the frustrated desire he had been stuck with for the past several days. He explored her mouth with aching slowness, keeping his other hand resolutely at his side, although both of Phryne's arms had wrapped securely around his middle, and she was pressing herself close.

Jack tasted her thoroughly, recognizing the flavors of coffee and sweet jam. He opened his mouth wider, sucking her tongue between his lips and teasing it with his own. Her hands had moved to his hips, holding him in place so she could squirm against his cock, which had been in varying states of arousal since he had boarded the train out of Melbourne last night. At the moment he was so hard it ached, and he wished for nothing more than for one of her hands to find its way inside his trousers as soon as possible.

Instead of reaching for his fastenings, however, her hand was dipping inside his pocket.

Her fingers closed around the object inside and she yanked it out. "I thought you said you ran out of handkerchi—oh!"

For she had not pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket but the pilfered pair of pink silk knickers. "What are these, Jack?" she asked him, unable to hide her surprise as pinched them between her thumb and forefinger and let them dangle in front of his face.

He refused to look bashful, though he was certain he was blushing. "I did run out of handkerchiefs. It was the next best thing, although sadly they don't smell quite as nice as the hankies."

"I should hope not! I would have to sack yet another laundry service," she laughed, lifting the silk underwear teasingly to his face and stroking down his cheek and neck. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he felt her press close, lifting her mouth to his ear. "Do you remember the last time I wore these? Because I do." Her words were brands against his neck. It was too much.

"Get undressed," he growled as he began to yank at his tie. His overcoat was already on the floor.

She obliged him with a grin, stepping out of her shoes and kicking them to the side before langorously lifting the hem of her dress up and over her head. She watched him hungrily as he practically tore clothes from his body, making a pile of fabric atop her luggage as he stripped away jacket, waistcoat, braces, tie, shirt. Phryne let her ivory camiknickers pool at her feet, stepping out of them in a hurry as she went to assist Jack, whose progress had slowed as his eyes roved over her bare flesh.

"Let me help you," she murmured, using both hands to lift his undershirt out from his waistband and pushing it up to reveal a taut stomach. She paused for a moment, gazing at his midsection as she scraped her fingernails over the line of fuzz that descended from his belly button, and he impatiently reached back to pull the shirt over his head.

Obstruction removed, Phryne tipped forward to seal her lips around one of the flat pink nipples that hovered temptingly before her, drawing on his flesh and thrilling at the rumble of delight it earned. His fingers threaded into the hair at the back of her head, holding her mouth against him, and it was all Phryne could do to keep from tackling him to the ground there and then.

Continuing to swirl her tongue around his sensitive flesh, her fingers began to fiddle with the fastenings of his trousers. Before long they were pooling at his feet and he was flinging them away with a toe. He reached for her again but she was stepping away from him, dragging her gaze slowly up his newly bared flesh.

Phryne allowed herself several moments to appreciate his body. She had not seen it in several days and her mind was itching to replace memory with reality. He was sinewy and firm, with thick, sculpted thighs that proved he still found the time to enjoy his bicycle. The fabric of his fitted drawers was pulled taut around his cock. He was more than ready for her.

She could only manage a shallow breath before returning to him quickly, sliding her fingers over the delectable muscles of his thighs and thrilling at the way they flexed beneath her touch. She toyed with the waistband of his drawers, slowly undoing the small buttons that dared to hold the fabric obstruction in place.

As her fingers worked his underwear down his hips she trailed kisses upwards from his chest, licking along his clavicle, tracing the smooth, taut lines of his neck and jaw with her tongue until she found his mouth again.

He let her kiss him quietly for a few moments before his control seemed to snap. Suddenly his lips were like a bruise, licking and biting and sucking until her entire mouth felt swollen and alive with sensation. His tongue slid between her lips, tickling over the roof and smoothing against the insides of her cheeks.

He lifted her and deposited her gently onto the velvet cushion, her head just beneath the window so that when she looked up she could see trees and sky flying by. His mouth found her breasts almost at once, seizing her nipples between his teeth before painting over them with his tongue. She gasped and mewled as he suckled her, reaching for her garters to remove the last bit of clothing that remained between them, but he caught her hand in his.

"No," he whispered gutturally against her wet, swollen nipple. "Leave them on."

His words and the tone of his voice formed a clutching, concentrated ball of arousal around her center and she flexed her hips upward, silently showing him where she needed his touch the most.

Jack did not need much more encouragement than that. He moved quickly down her body, grasping her behind the knees and pushing her legs towards her shoulders, causing her buttocks to lift into the air and urging the aching place between her thighs up to his face.

"Those handkerchiefs were inspired," he murmured, inhaling deeply. "But there is nothing quite like the real thing."

She squirmed at the feeling of being exposed to the air, so close to being touched. " _Please_ , Jack."

He grinned wickedly and pursed his lips, blowing a gust of cool air over her needy flesh. She cried and bucked, grasping for the back of his head in an effort to force his mouth where she wanted it.

Taking pity at last, he descended on her with mouth open, spreading her folds with his thumbs and sucking her silky flesh into the seal of his lips.

The noises she made almost shattered him. Her legs shook as he pushed the flat of his tongue over her swollen clit, and he watched her face eagerly as her chin lifted and her lips fell open in delight. She spasmed and writhed as his mouth worked over her, though he could tell she was trying to control her muscles as much as she could. Determined to make her let go completely, he found the little spot she liked along the left side of her clit and exploited it, digging in with his tongue until she was half-sobbing with pleasure. Jack was very glad for the noise of the moving train.

Her body began to grow tenser and tenser, her movements becoming jerky and fragmented, and he knew she was nearly there. He pulled back just long enough to watch two of his fingers slide into her, then let his eyes fly to her face to gauge her reaction.

"Jack!" she cried, stunned by the exquisite invasion. She forced herself to open her eyes and watch him as he drove his long fingers into her, pushing them as far as they could go before sliding them back out, slowly and deliberately. The pleasure was vicious, but without a steady rhythm for her climax to ride on she was completely at his mercy.

Just as she thought she might fall to pieces from the torture, his mouth returned and his fingers began to curl upwards inside her, nudging unbearably against the soft, spongey spot beneath her pubic bone, and it only took a few swift flicks of his tongue to send her into the arms of a black, blinding climax.

She lost of count of how many times she said his name, and he was kissing her all across the cradle of her hips, taking her flesh between his teeth before soothing it with his mouth.

"Come here," she whispered, reaching out for him. "I need you inside me."

Her greatest achievement as Jack's self-appointed boudoir tutor, Phryne thought, had been giving him the confidence to manipulate her body as he pleased. He knew the positions she liked and was always keen to try out new ones. They had reached such a point of trust with one another now that when Jack took command of her body Phryne eagerly let him have his way, for his way always turned up very good results. Nothing satisfied her more than when he would seize her by the hips and flip her over, or pull her legs up or down or around his waist or especially that one time when he had practically turned her into a pretzel, bending her knees until her legs crossed at the ankles then holding them flat against her torso while he drove into her. He no longer hesitated, no longer needed to ask or check to make sure she was all right. He knew she would speak up if something was wrong, but those occasions were rare.

This time was no exception. Jack chose their position wordlessly, scooting himself behind her until they were in a spooning position, a tight fit on the narrow compartment bench but they managed it. He pulled her left leg up and over his thigh and she felt the head of his cock nudge against her entrance. Her hips began to work madly, attempting to draw him in, but he allowed himself to slip along her folds several times, causing a delicious friction before he reached around in front of her and used his fingers to press himself inside.

Then, in one merciless thrust, she was filled. His hands clutched at her breasts as if to anchor himself as his hips angled up into her again, his mouth exploring the curve of her shoulder.

"Phryne," he whispered against her ear. " _My God_." He had only been a little more than a week for this moment, but it had felt like a lifetime.

He began to move and she arched eagerly into his thrusts, her heart clenching at the tenderness of his hands on her body. He was smoothing his palms over her face, brushing her hair back and tracing her features with loving fingers. She twisted her head around so she could meet his eyes. The way he looked at her...she had never been looked at like that by any man but Jack. It was more than lust, more than infatuation. It filled her with some nameless emotion, an emotion that expanded within her, squeezing the orgasm that was already building again into unimaginable heights.

He took the hand closest to him and interlaced their fingers, bringing her knuckles to his lips and trailing kisses over the delicate skin there. She moaned softly, thinking briefly that this man could make any part of her body an erogenous zone.

He thrust into her with quick, deep strokes, his breath coming out in little gasps over the back of her neck. His arms seemed to be everywhere, gathering her together and keeping her tight against him. Phryne could barely her eyes open but she could feel him watching her, drinking in the sight of the pleasure he was giving her, and just the thought of it was enough to turn her mind into a mess of heat and lust. He moved harder, faster, and she pushed back against his thrusts, growing so enthusiastic at one point that she nearly toppled both of them onto the floor.

Hauling her back in and securing her against him with both arms, Jack watched her face closely as he allowed the sensation of feeling her from the inside to engulf him. She was warm and wet and tight. And she kept  _squeezing_  him,  _Jesus_ , and her face, hell, she was half-angel, half-succubus, her lips parted, eyes closed, forehead creased as she concentrated hard on the pleasure his body was giving her.

Jack used her face as a guide, adjusting the angle of his thrusts and exploring until she gave a little gasp, or her brow knitted together, or her eyes flew open in surprise. Then he hit the spots he had found again and again, until she was drawn taut in his arms, her entire body clenched in anticipation, so close, almost there...and then, all at once, it was as if something broke inside of her. The muscles that had been held so tightly as her pleasure built seemed to fling apart all at once, making her shake and shudder and clamp hard around his aching cock.

Her hips worked madly against him until finally the spasms began to abate and she was half-laughing with ecstasy. Each undulation of her body sent screams of pleasure shuddering over his skin and didn't know how much more he could take. He took deep, calming breaths and watched her face, which was now smooth with satisfaction.

"Inspector  _Robinson_ ," she murmured, still sounding somewhat incoherent.

He smoothed the damp hair back from her face, his eyes heavy with love as he drank in the sight of her. He pushed his lips over the dewy skin at her throat, savoring the smooth, salty flavor. She smelled like sex and Shalimar and his head was so full of her he thought he might burst.

Phryne came down from her high slowly, grounding herself back in the here and now by concentrating on the way Jack was touching her. He held her so,  _so_  tightly against him, gathering her arms up until they were crossed over her chest then bundling her into an embrace, squeezing her together from behind with his right arm. She felt like a goddess has he ran his free hand down her ribcage and over the slope of her side, his fingers gripping her there in an attempt to still her spasming hips. His delicious voice was whispering against her ear, words that were meant to soothe but only inflamed her. "Ssshh" and "I've got you" and "be still" and "let it fade a bit." She was still shivering and twisting in his arms, but with his encouragement she was able to slow the fretful movements of her hips. He smeared long, panting kisses over the curve of her neck and she could feel his heart pounding against her back. It felt strange and wonderful to hold him inside of her without moving, to simply relish in the thrill of being so utterly stretched and filled.

One of his hands moved down to cup her belly and she began to roll her hips again, unable to keep still. His body bucked against her in response, driving himself impossibly deeper, and Phryne saw spots float across her vision.

"Jack," she whimpered. " _Jack_."

He sat up then, pulling her with him and guiding her around until she was straddling his lap. "Grind against me," he grunted, taking her waist in his hands and demonstrating the motion he wanted. "Like this. I'm close, Phryne."

She was only too happy to oblige. She squeezed him experimentally, sighing happily at the perfect, unfathomable sensation of his cock buried so snugly within her flesh, as if it was a piece she had always been missing. She ground herself down on him, rubbing her clit deliciously against the base of his shaft, feeling pleasure stack up inside her all over again.

She looked down at Jack. His head had fallen back against the seat, rolling slowly from side to side as he let sensation wash over him, lips parted, eyes closed. He was  _beautiful_. "Don't stop," he begged her quietly, and she kissed him and kissed him until her lips were tingling from the pressure of his mouth.

" _Yes,"_ he bit out as she began to increase her speed, "Holy Christ,  _yes_."

Phryne watched in fascination as his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hands were splayed wide over her hips, digging into the pillowy flesh of her backside as he tried to bear her down even harder. She quickened her pace, moving her pelvis in increasingly frantic circles and watching intently as ecstasy drew his expression tighter and tighter. He was nearly there. She clamped down on him hard with her insides and dragged herself all the way to his tip before rushing back down again with merciless precision.

He made a strangled noise she had never heard before, and suddenly she felt the warmth of his release erupting inside of her. His body spasmed beneath her and she clutched him close until it passed, swirling her hips gently until she felt him relax completely in her arms.

"Oh, Miss Fisher," he sighed into her neck, his fingers flexing around her thighs as he returned to himself.

"A worthy reunion, I think," she replied smilingly, her tone quite as exhausted as his. She pressed a series of kisses to his temple.

"You're not allowed to go on holiday without me any more," he teased, running a hand down her slick spine. "I simply will not stand for it."

"I'll be sure to pack you in my luggage next time. I was not very happy without you either."

His hair, damp with sweat and melted pomade, had fallen into his face. Phryne smoothed it back with trembling fingers, kissing both of his eyebrows and the tip of his nose before tucking her face into the curve of his shoulder. "So what do you think? Should I be responsible laundering your handkerchiefs from here on out?"

He snorted and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Handkerchiefs could cause problems. What if I needed to lend one to a victim?"

"I suppose you have a point. Well you did seem to find a worthy substitute in my knickers..."

"Worthy indeed. Superior, even, were you to leave your scent on those as well."

Phryne sat up with a delighted smirk on her face. "Naughty! Whatever am I going to do with you, Jack Robinson?"

"It's what you already  _have_  done that's the problem," he replied. "Dirty phone conversations, filching lingerie...I'd say you've managed to corrupt me."

"Oh, my dear Inspector," grinned Phryne, leaning in to run her tongue against the sensitive spot behind his earlobe. "I haven't even begun."


End file.
